


half a drop of venom

by Anonymous



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Ambiguous Body Parts, Desk Sex, Drugged Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Nobody's Claiming That This Is A Morally Sound Decision, Nonconsensual to dubiously consensual, Or That Cheery's A Morally Sound Individual, Other, Riding, Rough Sex, Somnophilia, if this isn't your kink don't click on the link
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-11-15 08:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18069848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The Libertine Sonneteer is dangerously unsubtle in their affections, but they assume The Cheery Man hasn't taken notice.He has.





	half a drop of venom

The Cheery Man has seen the way that the Libertine Sonneteer has been looking at him. 

It's not as if he objects. Of course not. They have enjoyed a much more familiar relationship then he permits himself to have with any other enforcers of his- still separated by a guise of professionalism, of course, but it's not like he has every grunt on call to spend an evening drinking wine with him. It's not like many of them would be genuinely interested in his ramblings, anyhow.

This one is different. They're soft, a _poet_ of all things, a viper-tongued little whippersnapper who floats through life on by the virtue of having pretty eyes and a confident smile, but they're loyal, and he's seen what they can do with a crowbar when their blood is up. As for the source of their loyalty... it all comes back to the way they look at him. Soft, wanting, devoted. 

He isn't quite sure why they haven't voiced their want yet. 

It's not as though they're the restrained type. Their title certainly isn't sarcastic- they've already been shipped off to the Tomb-Colonies or imprisoned for indecency more times then he can keep track of nowadays, and their list of lovers is longer than their list of published titles. Maybe it's the authority he has over them, maybe they're sure he wouldn't be interested.. maybe they're just nervous. It's strange, how their usual brash and brazen advances are softened in his presence. Either that or they're just being a tease- arguably more plausible, if he knows anything about them.

Well. 

Tonight he aims to correct that, and possibly indulge some unique tastes of his own. 

The Sonneteer's arrived. Every time he sends the Bruiser to go fetch them, they're here as fast as the wind. It brings a smile to his face every time, to see their eagerness. The door closes firmly behind his favorite enforcer, and the lock clicks soundly closed. They know he likes to lock his office door, they aren't concerned. He doesn't like interruptions when he's drinking with friends, that's all. 

"Good to see you, my dear lad. Your drink is already poured." Morelways '72. A good vintage. Hopefully, they'll be able to enjoy it before.. ah, well, he doesn't want to dwell on that quite yet. 

The Libertine Sonneteer grins at him brightly and settles down in an armchair in his office, one leg draped over the other, and picks up their glass to take a long sip. So does the Cheery Man. 

"How have your operations around Watchmaker's Hill gone lately, sir?" It's positively adorable, the fact that they still call him sir, like some kind of respectable employer. "I'm afraid I haven't been up to date on everything, I've been far too embroiled in the petty rivalries of London authors lately."

He smiles and chuckles lowly to himself, leaning back in his chair. "Well, we've missed you and your skill at taking care of little problems, but things have been.. very good for our operation. Business is coming along quite nicely. We've found a new buyer for the sunlight business that doesn't ask as many annoying questions. Nothing but good news, my friend." 

The Sonneteer grins all sharp-toothed and takes another long drink, tucking a lock of hair behind their ear. "Why, that's simply divine! Do you have any particular jobs for me at the moment, then?" He shakes his head, swirling the wine in his glass. "Unfortunately, no, but I'm sure something will turn up soon. Our old light buyers aren't too pleased about being replaced, but if they end up being pests I know exactly who to call to show them reason, don't I?" He lets a smile grace his lips as he sees one spread across theirs, a soft chuckle rising from their chest. They've always treasured flattery.

Then, they go to take another sip from their glass and pause, hesitating. His stomach gives the slightest twist of nerves. "Is this, ah- is this the '72?" A quick study of the glass quiets his mind, though. They've drunken enough. "It is indeed." A faintly confused frown crosses their features, and they carefully place it down, their hand subtly trembling. "It tastes.. oh, I feel quite strange."

The Cheery Man lets a tone of concern enter his voice, shifting to begin getting up from his chair. "Are you quite all right? Come over here, let me get a look at you. Maybe it was something you ate earlier.." They simply nod, eyes already beginning to glaze as they totter to their feet and stumble over. He uses his desk to pull himself to a standing position just as they reach his side and their eyes promptly roll back in their head as they swoon into his arms, breathing deeply, dead weight. 

Perfect.

Still supporting himself on the desk, he settles them gently onto the solid wooden surface. They're out cold, sleeping a calm and dreamless sleep, hair slightly rumpled by their near fall. He takes a moment to admire them in this moment of softness, grinning to himself as he cups their cheek, before flipping them onto their stomach and pulling their hips back to the edge of the desk.

His hands solidly frame their waist to squeeze, and he can't help a low noise as he presses his hips forward against their body, grinding there self-indulgently as he feels himself start to harden in his drawers. He could almost satisfy himself with just this, this soft friction of fabric, but why stop there when he has the opportunity to do so much more?

Undoing his trousers and then his drawers, he draws himself out and strokes, still leaning heavily on the desk with his free hand as he ruts against their prone form. His fingers hook into their waistline and tug, then, until the fabric is bunched around their legs, the soft expanse of their thighs bared and tender. He pinches them lightly, just where their leg meets their ass, and they make a little noise in their sleep. He isn't concerned- they won't wake. It's strong stuff.

Dipping one hand into a compartment of his desk, he withdraws a small bottle and slicks his fingers with the oil inside, pressing into them without a second thought. They'll need some preparation, of course, but it isn't as though they're inexperienced with taking cocks- he has to chuckle at the idea, honestly. There's the occasional muffled noise against the desk under them, but they stay mostly unresponsive as he thrusts and scissors his fingers, stretching them to accommodate him. It doesn't take long. Soon, he slicks himself as well- and pauses.

There's nothing keeping him from just pushing in, but he takes a moment to savor it, reaching forward to fist a hand in their silky hair. Then he's thrusting forward into them with a hiss of pleasure, sinking to the base and grinding there for a moment as he pants. They're tight and warm around him, and even as they lay bonelessly against the desk, they're twitching and squeezing around the intrusion, beautifully responsive. 

He'd been planning on taking it slow, fully enjoying their body under him, but he can't resist the reaction their body is pulling out of him. With a low growl, one hand in their hair and one tightly gripping their waist, he thrusts hard and fast, taking them with abandon. They're rocked by the thrusts, and their expression twitches at the rough fucking, fingers twitching and curling into loose fists by their sides. 

There's no dream for this experience to drift into- he knows that from the manufacturer of the drought he'd dosed their wine with- but the idea that this could be affecting them even as they sleep affects him more then he'd thought it would. He lets out another low, pleasured noise as he continues to fuck them into his desk with heavy, forceful thrusts, burying his face in their shoulder and letting the hand on their waist creep between their thighs to frig them. 

And they react. They react wonderfully. Their back arches just the slightest bit and their slow, slumbering breath quickens a little- he can see the muscles in their legs tensing just slightly whenever he rubs over their most sensitive point, tightening around him in a way that makes him breathe heavy against their neck. He breathes in deeply as he continues to roughly fuck into them, letting out a rough chuckle at the smell of perfume clinging to their skin. He's not sure where they heard that this was his favorite, but they certainly heard it from somewhere. It's hard to get.

As he loses himself in their body, a feeling like a tightening spring coiling in his belly, he doesn't notice the way their reactions to his touches become a little less sleepy, their noises just a touch louder. To be fair, they don't seem to notice that they're waking up either, not until their eyes finally drift open and they're greeted with the solid surface of the desk against their cheek. Their face is burning as they try to make sense of what they're feeling, head swimming with the residual effects of the drought, and even if they weren't dazed and cloud-brained they'd be thoroughly distracted by the steady, demanding push-pull of something rutting into them. 

It isn't until they feel a sharp breath against their neck and a murmured expletive in a voice they know well that their lagging brain puts together all the pieces. Their mouth falls open, but a strangled moan falls out instead of any kind of shout, their thighs trembling as their hips twitch forward into his hand. His hands are touching them, burning them- neither of their hands are bound, but they still feel like they're wrapped in red-hot chains that only seem to drive their shameful arousal higher and higher. 

Finally, they jolt as his cock slams into a particularly reaction-producing spot and let out a ragged mewl, and he notices. There's a few seconds of subtle panic before he remembers that he's not the kind of person to panic and simply grins wicked against the nape of their neck, biting lightly at the skin there. "Don't pretend you don't make eyes at me whenever you think I'm not looking, my little songbird. Don't pretend you didn't go and find this perfume specifically, or all the hundred other little things." They want to respond, but their throat betrays them, and all it can produce are more absolutely embarrassing yips and whimpers as he continues to snap his hips against their ass. "I don't care if you were planning on teasing me or just assumed I'd decline, this is a reminder. You don't keep secrets from me, birdie, even if that secret is you want me bending you over and taking you over my desk." There's another attempt made to speak, but they're just about incoherent at this point, squirming and panting under him as they're filled over and over. That's alright by him. He doesn't need their words to thoroughly ensure that this reminder takes.

The hand in their hair grips tighter, lifting their head up off the desk slightly, and he starts to grind into them hard and fast, chest pressed hard into their back as he pins them securely to the surface with his weight. All they can do is twist and whine beneath him as he pulls their hair, seemingly only worked up more by the pain in their scalp. He can only smirk as he watches them pant wordlessly, the smile growing wider as they keen at his hand rubbing them faster. He can feel them getting close- he almost expects them to spend before he does.

And they do. 

A few more insistent thrusts and their toes are curling in their shoes as they shake themselves apart around him, fingernails scrabbling at the glossy wood they lie on. The intensity is unexpected, even for him, and he stills as they continue to shake and gasp before slowly starting to thrust again, their wrists clutched tightly in his hands. If that's for restraint, though, it isn't needed- they're still, now, lying more motionless then they had been when he'd started with them, only letting out the occasional choked-back moan as his breath grows more and more ragged. Finally, he stills when he's deep inside them, his cock twitching as he releases inside, coaxing a shaky groan from the Sonneteer's lips. 

God, he hasn't been on his legs without his cane in a dog's age, even if most of his weight is on the individual under him. Perhaps he should have thought this out a touch more. Maneuvering carefully, he shifts the both of them from the desk to his chair, one arm curling around their torso to keep them flush to his chest. They perch on his lap, still exhausted and boneless from their bone-shaking orgasm, too wrung-out to muster any words. 

He's still inside them, and he doesn't plan to pull out anytime soon. Originally, his plan was to let them wake up in one of the _Medusa's Head_ 's back rooms with some suggestive bruises and a note detailing exactly why he doesn't tolerate this kind of secret-keeping, definitely not to tell them directly, but he has to say this is preferable- especially since now, he can hold them as they pant and tremble subtlely, hair plastered to their forehead with sweat as their head lolls back against his shoulder. It's nice. 

They stir, eventually, tilting their head to glance up at him before turning their face to press it against his neck, cheeks still burning. He chuckles before gripping them by the waist and lifting them up, turning them in his lap so they're facing him. His legs may be shot, but the rest of his body has strength yet. The Libertine Sonneteer settles into the Cheery Man's lap as his spending leaks from them, hands splayed out across his chest and forehead against his shoulder. A little voice says they should be pushing him away and hollering, or at least feel some kind of horror, some kind of disgust- but apart from a twisty, embarrassing feeling in the pit of their stomach, all they can dwell on is the fact that they're finally, finally feeling his hands securely against his back, holding them to his chest, or the mind-searing pleasure they'd been experiencing just a second before.

The Cheery Man runs a warm, rough hand down their back and cups their ass, coaxing a soft huff from them, as he grins to himself. "You know, I knew you've had your share of lovers, but I wasn't expecting those rumors about the noises you make when you're being fucked to be true." He's expecting some kind of reaction to that, of course, but he wasn't expecting a moan. He raises an eyebrow and fists his hand in their soft hair, pulling them up so they can't hide their face anymore, finding them flush-cheeked with pupils as wide and dark as the zee. They still look slightly hesitant, some amount of distrusting, but he'd be more surprised if he didn't see that.

"Now, don't look at me like that. I could have been a bit nicer about it, sure, but when have you ever known me to be nice about anything?" The tight grip on their hair loosens and he starts running his fingers through it soothingly instead, still cupping their thigh in his other hand. They look like they want to snap at him at the very least, to not just go boneless against him, but that's exactly what they do. Like a scruffed kitten. 

"Besides. It's quite obvious that you like being treated like this quite a lot." Their lips press together hard, and they draw breath to speak, a flicker of indignation in their expression, but he just kisses them roughly with a light tug to their hair. Maybe being kissed like this, by _him,_ is worth whatever he's planning on putting them through.

They both settle into the kiss, the Sonneteer humming at the feeling of his stubble rasping against their face. They're lost in it, all worries about anything else fading- before they're suddenly brought out if it by a feeling of something pressing against their thigh. They pull back to catch their breath, but before they can say anything there are strong hands gripping their waist again. They yelp as they're hoisted up before letting out a noise that sounds like they rightly should be wearing a pair of red stockings. They clutch at his shirt, panting and twitching, before moaning as he arches his hips up a touch. 

Then, though, he stops, and he can't hold back a whine, hips circling needily. He chuckles lightly, drawing his nails along the back of his thigh. "See? I knew you were hungry for this, songbird. I'm not going to just give it to you this time, you'll have to work for it." All the Sonneteer can muster is a quiet noise of complaint, grumpily hiding their face against his neck. The Cheery Man laughs lowly, giving their thighs a rough squeeze. "Go on. I want to hear you sing."

Hesitantly, legs shaking, they start to rock in his lap. With a groan of approval, he reaches between them and starts to touch them again, making them whine quietly with the overstimulation. Their hips roll faster as they try to chase the pleasure, hands coming up to grasp at his shoulders as they begin to raise and lower themselves, noises growing louder as their head tips forward and their hair falls over their face. The mixed pleasure and discomfort of oversensitivity starts to fade back towards purely pleasure, and even the soreness that still clings to their body seems to go straight to their core. 

He murmurs praise to them as they ride him faster, their noises growing louder until they're tossing their head and babbling nonsense, mad with pleasure. Finally, he grabs them by the hips and helps them move, faster, harder, until he's letting out a low, growling noise and tightening his grip hard enough to bruise as he thrusts his hips up, filling them once again. They cry out brokenly, hips continuing to jolt as they chase their release. A few more desperate rolls of their hips, and then they're tensing in his lap again, scrabbling at his shoulders as their spine curves into an arch that his hand can't help but follow. It's less searing and entirely exhausting than the previous one, but they're still panting and motionless in his lap when they've ridden it out, sore and utterly content. 

The Cheery Man smiles to himself as he runs a soothing hand down their back, already knowing that they'll be complaining about the ache in the morning. "You know, I quite enjoyed this." There's a quiet grumble rising against his chest, but he just laughs again, more genuinely amused then mocking. "Maybe I should offer you a change of employment."

There's no protesting grumble for that.

**Author's Note:**

> ok i thought the cheery man was kinda hot so sue me


End file.
